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TANGLED CHAINS

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Track of the day: Talk Me Down - Troye Sivan

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There was a time when Irene’s father had given her a necklace for her 17^th birthday. It was pretty. Silver. A diamond encrusted charm the shape of a heart at the front. Letters spelling Pandora are embedded on the black felt that covered the inside of the case.

Irene was in a rush then, so when she took it off, she didn’t place it in the box neatly. Instead, she had just flopped it inside, messy, carelessly. The next day, she got it out, wanting to wear it to Shaun’s birthday party, but the link was all tangled, crumpled into tiny balls at certain intervals.

She tried to unknot it, untangle the chain but the more she tried, the more it got tangled up. The more it became complicated.

* * *

Wendy reads through the copy of ‘Lord of the Flies’ that Irene has just bought. They are now seated at a table at the coffee shop a floor above the bookstore. The wisp of smoke from the two hot drinks in front of them mingles with the air. The aroma of the brewing coffee, the sound of the brewing coffee all contribute to the atmosphere. Yes, they are in a coffee place. No, there is no talking between them.

“I thought you wanted to get to know me,” Irene says after she notices the old lady sitting at the table across from them stands up. The old lady has been there after them and yet she leaves first.

Wendy’s guitar is leaning on the wall beside the window, a few inches from Wendy’s seat. Wendy turns the page as she says, “I thought you wanted to get to know me too.”

Irene rolls her eyes. She feels as if she has been trapped, or caught. As if Wendy knows Irene has a lot of questions for her.

“Surely, you must have something you want to know,” Wendy says, eyes still on the pages of the book.

Irene sits back from her chair and draws in a breath before exhaling her worries, her fears. “Okay…” Irene pauses, thinks. Which question is suitable to ask? The series of relationships? The dropping out? The three jobs? Oh, what the heck. “Why did you drop out of university? Was it the boys? Perhaps, money?”

Irene sees a smirk on Wendy’s face. She watches as Wendy closes the book and hands it to her. As Irene is about to take it, Wendy holds on to it with a tight grip. Irene looks up, meeting a pair of dark eyes. Unreadable eyes yet they compel, they beckon. Irene finds herself catching her breath.

“Career change. Boys are not related. Money…” Wendy lets go of the book, “…possibly.”

It takes a moment for Irene to answer back. She is flustered and she knows when she is flustered. It’s not the first time she has been. There was this guy in high school who made her flustered. Old crush. But she is just surprised to be flustered right now, right here, and because of…Wendy.

“Huh…” escapes Irene’s lips. It dawns on her that even though Wendy has answered her questions, the answers have led to more questions, more curiosities. Irene still pursues though, “Care to expand—”

“Hold it. My turn to ask questions,” Wendy says.

“Your turn?”

“That’s the point of the game. You ask, I answer. Then I get to ask and you have to answer.”

“I didn’t know we were playing a game—that game.” Irene funnily finds it amusing.

“It’s not fair to me if you keep asking. I have to know you too.” There is a certain brightness that glows from Wendy’s eyes. It’s a certain playfulness that tells Irene that Wendy finds this amusing as well. “So…” Wendy takes a sip from her coffee, “…the big question of the day. Why do English Literature?”

“That’s your big question?”

“That’s not an answer. And you just used up one of your questions.”

“What? There’s rules to this game?”

“Every game has rules.”

Irene scoffs. This is all too baffling and rather frustrating. “I’m not playing this game.” She doesn’t have the time. Deadlines, deadlines. A ticking counter warns her to start her report. To go home and do her work.

Wendy frowns. “That’s not the answer to my question.”

“Frankly, I am busy. I have things to do. I think we’ve spent enough time getting to know each other, hmm?”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Irene says. She stands up after grabbing her things then continues, “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“Wait—”

Irene pauses and turns around.

“You’re not going to finish your drink?”

Hah. She worries more about the drink.  “See you, Wednesday, Wendy.”

That is what Irene says and she really wants to leave. She doesn’t want to stay but feeling Wendy’s hold on her arm all of a sudden, she feels the need to listen to what Wendy has left to say. She momentarily ignores the counter that is ticking in her head. She still has time to write her paper.

“I’ll…”

“Hmm?” Irene engages Wendy to go on.

“…Never mind. See you, Wednesday.” Wendy lets go of Irene’s arms. She sits back down to her chair and again, an air of despondency wraps around her. Her playfulness has dissipated, much like how the smoke from their drinks has dispersed into their surroundings.

Irene’s ever more curious now. Why did Wendy hesitate? What did Wendy hesitate on? “What—” But the deadline. The paper. “…See you, Wendy.”

* * *

Wednesday wasn’t busy.

It didn’t become busy.

Wendy didn’t turn up.

* * *

“Do you think she was ill?!” Irene shouts. The music blaring from the stereo doesn’t really help much with conversations. But it’s a party. People don’t usually talk in parties.

“Who is she?! You have got to stop being vague, Irene!” Joy responds in the same heightened volume. Joy’s voice is louder though. Irene presumes it’s because of Joy’s height. Giants have bigger lungs, right?

“Wendy! On Wednesday, she wasn’t there!”

“I can’t hear you very well, Irene!”

“WEN—”

“Save the talk for later! Just have fun for now! We’ve submitted our papers!” Joy hurrahs and raises her red cup to the air. She laughs quite manically, like a witch. A witch on booze. Honestly, Joy can get wild for someone who looks so pristine; be so un-ladylike for someone who looks so ladylike.

Irene smiles. “I’LL BE OUTSIDE!”

Joy nods. That’s Irene’s cue to leave the crazy and sort it out later on. She hopes that Joy doesn’t get too wild and start dancing on the table just like a few weeks ago in Minju’s party.

Irene steps into the backyard. There is a pool in the middle, its chlorinated water shining blue from the pool lights. There are paper lanterns that hung sloppily on the branches of a tree that stood next to a three-seater swing. Red paper cups strewn across the astroturf of a lawn. The smell of beer and alcohol clings onto the cold November air: musty, hoppy, effervescent. It is strong. It is the smell of teen spirit.

Breathing in this air isn’t that bad. The breeze feels nice after being in a hot, sticky, stuffy room. It is soothing, relaxing. And the music isn’t as loud. There are some chatter from groups of people but it isn’t as bothersome. Irene can at least hear herself think out here.

Irene walks further down, rounds the pool and just by the garage she spots a familiar figure.

It’s Wendy.

She is with a group of people: two girls, one guy, all clad in clothing of black. They look like they came out of a punk rock magazine, except that Wendy exudes a different kind of impression, an aura of allure. She wears a black pullover paired with acid washed skinny jeans and her favourite black boots. Maybe that is what makes her stands out.

Irene doesn’t mean to watch but she is drawn—she gets drawn—by Wendy’s charisma, in how Wendy leans so casually onto the garage door, in how she carries herself as she laughs, talks.

A guy pulls something out of his hoodie pocket. The security lights make it out to be a small white box. A carton? He pulls something out of the carton. Ah… A cigarette. He hands it, not to the other girl, or the other other girl, but to Wendy.

Wendy.

Wendy smokes.

Wendy puts the cigarette in between her lips and lights it with her own lighter and as she looks up that is when she notices Irene. She smiles, the cigarette in between her lips, before on it. A cloud of smoke leaves as she walks over, away from what seem to be her friends.

Irene has never liked the idea of smoking. She hates it, loathes it. The smell of it. The habit. The consequences of it. Nothing good comes out of the thing. A silly stick that can take away lives.

She feels a slight irritation at the sight. It’s something she cannot help. Irene likes to smell good. Cigarettes don’t really contribute to that.

“Hey,” Wendy says. A steady strand of smoke leaves an orange ashy end of a cigarette held so naturally between two fingers.

“…Hey.”

“What brings you here?” Wendy asks. She on the deadly stick again, the orange glow burning brightly, then she coolly releases the smoke, away from Irene’s direction.

It’s weird. There is a certain charm to how Wendy blows out the fumes. Enthralling. Appealing. But Irene still fans out the smoke and makes a face of discomfort. “I should be asking that question to you.”

“Oh, you don’t like—Sorry. I’ll put it out.” Wendy drops the cigarette and steps on it. There is a slight crease on her forehead. What a waste.

“I didn’t know you smoke,” Irene says, partly amazed, partly surprised, partly annoyed. Wendy doesn’t look like the type to smoke. She looks too pure when she smiles.

Wendy shrugs. “Everybody has their vices. So, what brings you here?”

“Let’s say, for celebratory reasons. I handed in my paper earlier this afternoon.”

“Ah,” Wendy smiles again. It’s a semi-smile this time. But that doesn’t stop it from being bright. “Congratulations. That is something to celebrate. We should toast to that.”

“I can’t really drink. I need to get a friend home.”

Wendy looks disappointed. “That’s a shame.”

It’s not really. Irene doesn’t like to knock herself out with a drink. She puts her hands in her cardigan and asks, “What brings you here, then?”

“Oh, friends,” Wendy nods her head at the three behind her. Irene waves them a hello but she gets laughter in response. “Don’t mind them. They act stupid sometimes but they’re good friends.”

Irene doubts it. She looks at the cigarette on the floor and she cannot help but doubt it. “You weren’t there on Wednesday.”

“I wasn’t there on Wednesday.”

“Why?” Irene doesn’t like to nosy about in other people’s business but for some reason, with Wendy, she wants to know.

Wendy smirks. The cheekiness is there again. At the tips of her lips, at the corner of her eyes. It is evident in her reply when she says, “Why? You missed me?”

“Hah.” Unbelievable. Since when did Wendy think they are close enough to joke around this way? But Irene smiles at it, undeniably. What can go wrong in playing along? “Yeah. Oh so terribly. It felt lonely on the way home.”

Now, Wendy laughs. “I’m very sorry about that. But I’m a star. Obligations call from other parts of the town. When you’re famous, you’re demanded everywhere.”

Irene knows that it is a lie. Wendy is spouting nonsense to hide the real reason of her absence. And Irene feels that if she asks again, she’ll never get a serious answer.

That is Wendy.

The more Irene asks, the more Wendy hides. Wendy cowers into the dark, burrows herself away. Answers lead to more questions, further curiosities and complexities.

Irene struggles. Just like the tangled chains of her necklace. The more she tries to unravel it, the more it gets convoluted.

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A/N: The pace of this is more gentle and it's quite a different writing style I use for IHBLMB. Nonetheless, they're both fun stories to write. And I get so into the story sometimes that I find it hard to stop writing. It's definitely a struggle to juggle two stories at once. I find myself confused at times. I would love to hear some feedback please. This has become my catchphrase: "Feedback is the food of a writer". Comments and upvotes are all greatly appreciated. It'll put a smile on an emo-stricken WenRene author.